Clarice, however, paid no great attention to the proceedings in the waggonette.  She was almost oblivious to the husband at her side.  The night was about her, cool with soft odours, wrapping her in solitude.  Love at last veritably possessed her, so she believed; it had invaded her last citadel to-night.  That it sat throned on ruins she had no eyes to see.  It sat throned in quiescence, and that was enough.  Clarice, in fact, was in that compressed fever-heat of the mushroom passions which takes on the semblance of intense and penetrating calm.  And her very consciousness of this calm seemed to ally her to Drake, to give to them both something in common.  She was troubled by no plans for the future; she had no regret for anything which had happened in the past.  The vague questions which had stirred her—­why had she been afraid of him?—­was the failure of her marriage her fault?—­for these questions she had no room.  She did not think at all, she only felt that her heart was anchored to a rock.

CHAPTER XIV

Given a driver who is at once inexperienced and short-sighted, a fresh horse harnessed to a light dog-cart, a dark night and a narrow gateway, and the result may be forecast without much rashness.  Mallinson upset his wife and the cart just within the entrance to Garples.  Luckily the drive was bordered by thick shrubs of laurel, so that Clarice was only shaken and dazed.  She sat in the middle of a bush vaguely reflecting that her heart was anchored to a rock and yet her husband had spilled her out of a dog-cart.  Between the incident and her state of mind immediately preceding it, she recognised an incongruity which she merely felt to be in some way significant.  Fielding and Captain Le Mesurier picked her out of the bush before she had time to examine into its significance.  All she said was, ‘It’s so like him.’

‘Yes, hang the fellow!’ said the Captain, and under his breath he launched imprecations at all ‘those writer chaps.’

Mallinson raised himself from a bed of mould upon the opposite side of the drive and apologised.  Captain Le Mesurier bluntly cut short the apology.  ’Why didn’t you say you couldn’t drive?  I can’t.  Who’s ashamed of it?  You might have broken your wife’s neck.’

‘I might, and my own too,’ replied Mallinson in a tone not a whit less aggrieved.

Captain Le Mesurier raised his eyes to the heavens with the apoplectic look which comes of an intense desire to swear, and the repressive presence of ladies.  ’Will you kindly sit on the horse’s head until you are told to get up?  I want the groom to help here,’ he said, as soon as he found words tolerable to feminine ears.  A groom was already occupying the position designated, but he rose with alacrity and Mallinson silently took his place and sat there until the harness was loosed.